Diagnosis
by heythereindiekid
Summary: They're unsure whether it's a curse or a disease. Is it good or is it bad? Because it usually ends in heartbreak. Is it real, or is it all just tricks? It's spreading and it's fatal. Quinn one-shot.


_She said, "Hello mister, pleased to meet ya."__  
__I wanna hold her, I wanna kiss her__  
__She smelled of daisies  
She drives me crazy_

**{**Angus and Julia Stone – Big Jet Plane**}

* * *

**

They're unsure whether it's a curse or a disease. Is it good or is it bad? Because it usually ends in heartbreak. Is it real, or is it all just tricks? Does she mean to walk like that, or is it in their heads? Are those hips always _there_, or is she just cunning?

It's spreading and it's fatal.

Quinn Fabray.

* * *

Sometimes, when Puck closes his eyes, he sees her. He sees those pretty, pretty eyes as they were the night they _gave their child away_, sad and lonely and asking all sorts of things that he'll never know the answer to.

She doesn't go to Church much any more, which is his triumph in all of this, because she's left him with all these scars and marks here and there and everywhere, and sometimes it's like she doesn't remember him; like he never left a mark on her at all. Why should she pay attention to him? It's _over_. The baby Beth ship sailed months ago and now all that brings them together are Mr Schuester and a couple of poorly matched-up duets.

But sometimes, she pauses just before his desk, or lingers by his locker, and Puck is really not sure whether it's coincidence or hidden messages. Her skirt brushes against him when she flounces past, or the vanilla sent of those lovely curls strikes him in the corridor, and he's swimming in memories that he never remembered until that moment.

"Hey, Fabray," Puck says to her one day, all sorts of impulses running through his veins that he doesn't understand.

"Puck," she says distastefully, her eyes flickering to where his long, musicians' fingers wrap around her wrist.

"What are you doing tomorrow night? It's a Friday, and I have this voucher for Breadsticks- Well, okay, I stole it from some kid, stop giving me that look. Do you want to go?"

"With you?"

"With me."

Quinn stares at him, her brow thoroughly knotted. She searches his face as if waiting for him to react to something; to let something dawn across his expectant face. When the moment doesn't come, she shakes out of his grasp and takes a step backwards. "I have plans, Puck-"

"But they expire, soon-"

"-with Sam."

Puck stares at her, trying to make sense of her words. Then he catches a glimpse of the bright blond hair - not nearly as pretty as hers – sliding past bodies to reach the spot where the two of them are standing.

"Sam- Right- Forget I asked, yeah?"

And then Puck is gone, tearing away from the scene because he doesn't know what just happened, or why he did it.

Finn, Artie and Mike diagnose him with _Quinn Withdrawal. _

Being sick is usually pretty cool with him because he'll take any excuse to chill at home and play video games, but now he'd rather tear out his brain and heart and be a zombie for the rest of eternity.

* * *

Artie was never into blondes, _ever_. He thought this was obvious when he fell for Tina, the dark and gloomy opposite of summer and vanilla and singing sweet little melodies.

But then Tina was gone, and it was the frail wheelchair boy with a broken heart, and sure _ArtieandTina_ made such a lovely couple but everyone knew this is what it would come down to, _everyone_.

He's weak and fragile and watch out for him, will you? Really, he's a sweetheart and sure, he's got talent, but he doesn't have _legs_ and that divides him from everyone else, no matter how much they stand up for him. Artie likes to tell himself that he doesn't need anyone, but the truth is he latches onto people sometimes, often without not even knowing it.

"Can I borrow a pen?" Quinn asks him in Spanish, gold curls flying through the air. She's chewing on her lip innocently and God, she's pretty, but Artie knows where the standards are and hands her a pen without getting ahead of himself.

"Thanks," she says after class, dropping the pen on his lap as she passes him in the doorway forty minutes later. He gets stuck slightly, his wheel turned on an awkward position against the frame. People are shouting behind him and he's bright red and awfully small in the world as he tries to remove himself.

"Would you _move_?"

"Friggan' handicap kid, again-"

"_Oi!_"

But then there's a flash of red and white and gold, and Artie is being yanked away from the growing commotion. He looks up as Quinn drags him towards an empty corridor quickly, her skirt swaying by her sides in an almost-slow-motion.

"Thanks," her mutters, furious with himself and the world.

"It's no problem," Quinn tells him, turning her back on him. She takes a few steps before looking back and adding, "Really."

Maybe it's because he's a very dependent person, or because her hair really _is _that lovely shade, but he's hooked. One decent act and he thinks he's in love because he's so terribly, stupidly foolish.

He diagnoses himself with _Quinn Infatuation_ because he knows the guys will judge him for this one.

* * *

Rachel's beautiful. She's got this funny little way of walking, all determined like, and her smile is stunning and her voice will knock you over when you first hear it. She's a really good person and he likes to think he can say he deserves someone like her.

Except Finn can't say that because sometimes when he's holding Rachel's hand, he'll look over and, for a second, expect to see Quinn standing there, beaming back at him. She never is, of course, but his brain is still programmed to think like that. Oh, and he dreams about her sometimes too. It's not dirty – how could it be dirty, when Quinn is such an angel? He just likes to think she's _there_.

He gets really angry one day. He gets so angry that that he picks up his lamp from his bedside table and smashes it against the wall. Rachel blinks at him with tears streaming down her cheeks and says quietly, "You're scaring me, Finn. I have to go."

But if Quinn was there, she would have calmed him down. She would have known exactly what to say. Now Finn is just left on his, trying not to cry on his bed, hating himself because he misses Quinn, he misses her so much and he's a horrible person.

Now her goodness is rubbing off on him and he doesn't really deserve it.

* * *

Artie calls it _Quinn Deprivation_ which he thinks sounds a little too much like what Puck had, but Artie just says that he still needs Quinn, whereas Puck just wants her. Finn doesn't say much more because Artie got an A- on their last science test, whereas he barely scraped a D+.

Kurt is kind of no man's land when it comes to this, because none of the guys really get what he's going through. But from what they've brainstormed, Kurt's got a lot of things. He's got his fashion and his voice and his Dad and whatever, but it's not enough for him.

Kurt kind of hates her. She always gets the guys and people love her and she's so sweet and endearing and no one has _ever_ shoved her into a locker for who she is. He hates her because if he could be anyone, he'd be Quinn. It's saying a lot because there are so many amazing people he could choose to be. Just her, always her. His eyes have never quite sparkled like that and a boy has never held him like that and he's never been able to wear a dress and look beautiful in it (not that he's considered cross-dressing, but God, she looked beautiful at his mom's wedding).

"Kurt?"

"I don't- Oh, Quinn," he says shortly, slamming his locker shut.

"Hey," she says, smiling slightly. He can't be rude; who is he to deny an angel?

"Can I help you?" Kurt asks as kindly as possible, but she's wearing a different shade of lipgloss today – a new, summery, rosy Chanel – and its distracting him. He saw it in a magazine and new immediately what skin tones it'd suit, but he was wrong. It only suits her. He can't imagine it on anyone else.

"It's about what Mr Schue said-"

_How did she afford that? Didn't her parents kick her out_?"

"-and I know you don't really hang out around the guys on the team anymore, but you should know-"

_I hate her. Look at her_.

"- and he's risking his ass to save you, Kurt. Are you listening?"

"What?"

"_Are you listening to me_?"

"I- Yeah, of course- What-"

Kurt's words are cut off by a flash of blond and a tall figure. Kurt eyes Sam's split lip and then the sheepish, quick smile that flickers over his face before the blond boy turns to Quinn. He gestures back towards the way he came from, signalling that he needed to talk to her alone.

"Do you see what I'm saying?" she asks him in a near-murderous tone before being whisked away by her Prince Charming.

He hates her because she's so beautiful and lovely and maybe not even a sinner, after all.

They diagnose him with a terrible case of _Quinn Envy_ in hushed tones before he appeared in the doorway, lost in a world of angry thoughts.

* * *

Sam isn't really much of a character. Sure, he's pretty damn good-looking and talented, but so are a lot of other people. He doesn't stand out. The bad-boy image is property of Puck, the sweet, helpless guy is already branded on Artie's forehead, Mike has the quiet guy pinned and he's not even going to consider the gay-guy label. So who is he at this new school?

Maybe that's why he's never thin enough (_ever_) and he has to push and push and _push_ at the gym until everything breaks. Maybe he keeps trying too hard because he still doesn't stand out and hell, it all hurts.

Sam tries a few times to bring himself out of it, but he can't. His chest isn't flat enough at _all;_ how can they say it is? How can they say he has a problem? He promises his mom that he's thrown the old notepad out and he'll eat pasta tomorrow night, really.

Except twenty minutes later, his hand is shaking as he scribbles down how many calories are in the apple (65) and milk (97) that he had this morning.

And so when Mom leaves for work, Sam is already in the kitchen, making a new batch of protein shakes to hide in the fridge sitting out back that they reserve for special occasions. No one will see them and no one will judge him.

But then there's Quinn.

She's a whirlwind of colour and blond. Sometimes she's quiet and sometimes she can be really quite loud; her favourite music is Indie one day and Jazz the next. She dances like there's no gravity to bind her down and she sings like all the rest of the angels are humming in harmony by her side. Her smile legitimately brightens up the room at _least_ two shades. She can look like the most glamorous thing in the world, standing by his side in trainers and a cheerleading uniform. She's made mistakes but no one seems to remember them because she is the closest thing to perfect you're ever going to see in Lima- No, in Ohio. The world, the universe, _whatever_.

She's positively beautiful but when she's with him, it's like none of that matters. Like she's not thinking about what she had for lunch or when she'll next burn it off or why her friend was given a size eight pair of tracksuit pants but she got a twelve. And then Sam realises something: Quinn _isn't _thinking about those things. In his mind, it's the hardest thing to imagine.

But she smiles at him and she _loves_ him and maybe that makes him some sort of perfect too.

He doesn't have a protein shake the night they start going out. He makes himself a toasted sandwich and eats it without needing to Google how many calories are in this brand of cheese.

The next day he does, but it's a start, he can feel it.

He diagnoses himself with pure and simple _Love_ , because she changed something unchangeable. This is nothing like anything ever felt before, he thinks.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote for Glee. I don't know what's going on in the world or what new relationships are happening or what writers are on top.

Please review (:


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